


Goddesses All Tattered with Sunlight

by midautumnnightdream



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Holidays, M/M, The Sun is a Deadly Laser, before taking off to California at the height of summer, but that's okay, in which Grantaire didn't do his research
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 16:40:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15417174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midautumnnightdream/pseuds/midautumnnightdream
Summary: Enjolras and Grantaire, on a vacation in Palm Springs





	Goddesses All Tattered with Sunlight

“This is different,” Enjolras muses. There is sand in his hair, still, and his eyes are narrowed against the setting sun; an expression of preoccupation that is perfectly familiar, yet made extraordinary by their surroundings and circumstances. It seems to Grantaire, watching his – _friend?_ in contemplation, as if Enjolras himself is the source of the golden haze surrounding him, the molten sky but a reflection of some inner fire. A most mesmerizing kind of mirage. And yet –

“Hm?” It takes him a long moment to register that Enjolras has spoken and another, longer one to gather a response, scrambling for words that usually come so easily. “Different how exactly? Different from what you were expecting, or different from Marseilles, or a different kind of American dream? A glib phrase, I know, you don’t think much of it, but in these temperatures, is there anything to do but sleep and wish for a reprieve –” He winces, recognizing the inane ramble as a poor excuse for his usual elaborate verbosity, but it’s not as if he hasn’t spent years putting his foot into his mouth in front of Enjolras, and the words refuse to stop.

“This heat is ridiculous. Must be a wrong season for visiting. Like Midi at high summer. But different, drier. _Hotter_.” He casts a glance at Enjolras, half scolding, half shameful. “Bet you already knew that before we set out. Me, I didn’t glance at the map, or the thermometer. I just saw a cheap offer and seized it. _Carpe horas_ and all that –” He expands his hands in comical exaggeration. The words are accurate enough, but Grantaire has no intentions on elaborating on the truths behind them: the fact that, had he stopped to contemplate the implications of his madcap offer to Enjolras, to drop everything and go hunting for a touch of homeland they both missed in a Californian resort town of all places, he wouldn’t have dared to go through with it. The fact that he had never expected Enjolras to take him up on his offer in the first place. The fact that now they were here, in a place whimsically similar and yet absurdly different from the Mediterranean coast of their childhoods, Grantaire had _no_ idea what to do next.

Nevertheless, the idea had been his and if Enjolras didn’t like it…

“No.” The contemplative expression on Enjolras face has hardly shifted, but there is a small smile dancing on his lips, in his eyes, soft and almost bemused. Slowly, his eyes travel downwards, pulling Grantaire’s along as if by some hitherto unknown force. Coming to rest on their entwined fingers. “Just different.”

“Oh.” Grantaire says eloquently.

(Slowly, he squeezes the fingers clasped between his, a gesture so hesitant it’s almost a question. There is a permission in the pressure returned, and in the soft smile – _quietgolden and spreading outwards, reflected back on the molten sky_ – there is a promise.

Grantaire grins back, sure that his smile is not worth a celebration through any celestial phenomena, but it’s bright and goofy and as sincere as he has ever been. “Yes. Yes it is.”)


End file.
